Twilight: The Hetalia Version
by Sylonxx
Summary: A version of Twilight rewritten using Hetalia Characters. Follows the pattern of the book, but with only a few added scenes. an USUK fic! YAOI! R&R please :3
1. First Sight

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

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Preface:

_I'd never given much thought to how I would die - though I'd had reason enough in the last few months - but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. _

_I stared withing breaking across the long room, into the dark red eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me. Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. And I was definitely one who knew nobility. That ought to count for something._

_I knew that if I'd never gone to America, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end. _

_The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he saunted forward to kill me, and I knew this was now my end._

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**Chapter 1: First Sight**

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down, which I was thankful for. Strangely, it was seventy-five degrees today in London, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. It was ironic, really. Here I was, moments from leaving my home, and yet it seemed happy to be rid of me.

I was wearing my favorite shirt - a white, button up long sleeve; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a backpack, filled only with three items that were necessary for my trip; a book, an iPod with headphones, and my cell phone. For you see, in America, in a state called Washington was a small town named Forks, where it exists under a near constant cover of clouds; much like London. It rains on this inconsequential town, though, more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few moths old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad - Charlie - vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself - an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks, and all of America. With their fat-filled hamburgers, greasy fries, loud ill-mannered behavior. England was my home. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city of London that my mother and I had moved to. This is why it pains me to move.

"Arthur," my mom said to me - the last of a thousand times - before I get on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like e, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course, she had Phil now, so the bills would probably be paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want. I'll come right back as soon as you need me." But I could se the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mum." She hugged me tightly for a minute, then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a long, boring flight from England to Washington. Takes an extra hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me, I'm used to it; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school - which I wasn't looking forward to - and was going to help me get a car. But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. After all, he was an America and here I was, a British gentleman. I knew he was more than a little confused by my choice, and unlike my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining much to my delight. At least now it wouldn't be as sunny and pretty as it was in London. Fits my mood, actually. Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good - er, fair people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driving around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Artie," he said using my nickname and smiling as he automatically caught and steadied my clumsy self. "You haven't changed much. How's your mother?"

"Mum's quiet well actually. Doing a bit better, I would suppose. It's good to see you, as well, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

I had only a few bags plus the backpack. Most of my styled clothes - since I refused to wear any retched American clothes - were packed into them, along with things like my hairbrush, toothbrush, shampoo, etc. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy." A good god, not one of those idiotic Americans made ones.

"Where did you find it?" So kill me for trying to be polite.

"Do you remember Billy Edlestein down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No," I somewhat lied. The name did ring a bell, but I wasn't entirely sure of how much I did remember of them. So it was easy to say that I didn't.

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted. That would explain why my memory of him isn't so good. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory, such as the ignorant thing American's call "fishing". "He's in a wheelchair now," he continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to see me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask, but I wasn't about to drive some shitty made model. If I was going to be forced to drive a Chevy, it had better at least have some class to it as being a recently made model.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine - it's only a few years old, really." I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up easily. If there's one thing I inherited from him, it was stubbornness.

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think." Oh, wonderful.

"Did he buy it new?" Please say he did.

"Well, no. I think it was in the early sixties - or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly. Oh bloody hell. This just gets better and better.

"Ch - Dad, I'm not really knowledgeable on cars. I wouldn't be able to repair it should anything go wrong, and I couldn't afford the price of a mechanic…"

"Really, Artie, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." The thing, I thought to myself…it had possibilities…as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free. "You didn't need to go that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions aloud, one thing I didn't inherit from him, thank god. I was very good at expressing my emotions if needed, but though, I had to admit when it came to Charlie, I couldn't do it. So, I lied.

"That is very kind of you, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate the effort."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed at my thanks. We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. Forks was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green unlike London; the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was too green - an alien planet - but I loved it and it's what made living in Forks bearable.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had - the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new - well new to me - truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. Sure, it didn't have the class as the British models back home. And I wasn't quiet sure it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged - the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thank you!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. Another rare trait we shared; we are both easily embarrassed.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it was belong to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the dark blue walls where a British flag hung on the north wall, the peaked white ceiling, and the black laced curtains around the window - these were all part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for the now red-sheeted bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a laptop and a new desk lamp. This was another gift that would allow me to stay in contact with my mother if I couldn't reach her by cell and to also complete any homework if needed. Surprisingly, the rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. Sadly, there was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would - regrettably - have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Charlie, though, was that he did not hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother to do. It was nice to be alone for a change, not to have a smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the boring, bland town and let just a few of those tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, something to help me fall asleep as I dreaded the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty seven - now fifty-eight - students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. But all the kids here had grown up together - their grandparents had been little lads together. I would be the boy from the big UK, a curiosity, a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a boy from England should, I could work this to my advantage. But thanks to stereotypes, a British man was to be tall, brown haired with lovely blue eyes, a winning smile, and beautiful cut features. I was none of these. Instead, I was short and small, with blonde hair and emerald eyes, way too-thick eyebrows, and a frame that screamed malnutrition. It wasn't my fault I didn't eat much or played much or done anything at all. I wasn't one for sports; my hobbies lied with sewing, reading, and writing.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom supplies and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the long hours of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled locks. Maybe it was the light, but I already looked more unhealthy thanks to the recent week. Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was never going to fit in with a school of three thousand people; what were my chanced here? I didn't relate well to people of my age. I related to more mature people, those of ages 30 and older. I didn't understand the generation of teenage sixteen year olds. But even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me. She was childish, playful. I was mature and strict. She broke rules while I followed them. She was adventurous while I'd rather stay home and read.

Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof should've helped. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when exhaustion finally took hold and drug me under.

…

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the sickness creeping up on me at the thought of what lay ahead.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event, sadly. I was wishing he could help clam my nerves a bit, even if it would be awkward, but he only wished me good luck at school, which I thanked him for, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me.

Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square old table in the one of the three unlatching chairs - honestly this house lacks décor - and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.

My mother had painted the cabinets in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house, but only managed to make it even more unmatched. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First, a wedding photo of Charlie and my mum in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital where I was born, taken by helpful nurse. Those were embarrassing to look at, especially the wedding one as it was somewhat in an inappropriate, drunken stance. I would have to see to it that Charlie replaces them somewhere else, at least while I was to reside here.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't' stay in the house anymore. So I donned my jacket - which covered my grey vest and dark green long sleeve - and headed out the door into the rain. It was just drizzling which wasn't enough to soak me to the core as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my boots was unnerving, though, as it made the water rings at the ends of my pressed slacks. The mud was also ruining the lining of the boots. I missed the concrete of London.

I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the mud and puddles that were damaging my outfit, and now my just fixed hair. Inside the truck was nice and dry, a little too warm so I clicked on the AC. Luckily, someone had cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats sill smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline and peppermint; three smells I could not tolerate but was forced to do so anyways.

The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at the top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw or two. The antique radio worked and I quickly found a station that played classical pieces.

The school was, like most other things, just off the highway so it wasn't hard to find. It was not obvious that it was a school, though; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me turn into it's parking lot. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon colored bricks, unlike the schools back in England. There were so many trees and shrubs, that I couldn't see its size at first from the high way.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I might as well get directions instead of circling around the bloody parking lot like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly into puddles again and walked down a little stoned path lined with dark hedges that I avoided. Once at the door, I took a deep breath and entered.

Inside, it was brightly lit which made my eyes squint a bit, and it was too warm for my liking. The office was small, a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big cloak that ticked loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel over dressed, but then again, the shirt was far from looking as attractable on her as the suit was on me. So I ignored it and stepped up to the counter. The red haired woman looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," I informed here, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." she brought me several sheets to the counter to show roe. She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the traffic. I was glad to see most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy; so I at least fit in some way. The nicest car here, though, was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out greatly. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now. I don't want to appear like one of those lost idiots who can't find their way around a school on the first day. But the map proved to me that I would be exactly one of those idiots. The school looked to be a maze and I was not one to be good at mazes.

I stuffed everything into my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I can do this…oh bloody hell, I can't. Finally I exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face held high as I walked the sidewalk to the building, noting only a few stares here and there. My outfit stood out greatly amongst the faded jeans and band t-shirts the teens around me were wearing, but I didn't care. I continued my walk to the building ahead, which was labeled Building Three. I felt my breathing gradually moving toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats. I noted this and did the same. They were two boys, one with a skin of dark tone and light brown hair, the other a little light skin tone with blonde colored hair. At least my hair matched, but my skin stood out greatly.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name - not an encouraging response nor good first impression on my side - and of course I flushed a tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class, but somehow everyone noticed me anyways and the whispers began. Luckily, it would be harder for them to stare back at me without getting scolded by the teacher for not paying attention.

I glanced down at the list the teacher had given me, this class being Literature, one I favored. It was fairly basic, things I have read before; Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. It would be comforting to know I've read all of these, but a bit boring since this meant I would be acing this class.

Finally, when the bell rang - a nasal buzzing sound, a lean boy, though he looked more to be a man, with curled blonde hair and shining blue eyes leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You are Arthur Kirkland, no?" he asked, his voice painted heavily with a French accent. He looked overly handsome and confident, the popular type. I hated those types.

"Yes," I stated, trying to not make small talk, but he insisted.

"Where is your next class?" I didn't want to answer, so unsurely - and hoping I was wrong - I stated the first class that came to mind.

"Um, Government." Wait…I checked the list and saw that I was right. Curse my bloody good memory.

"Oh, with Monsieur Jefferson in building six. I'm heading toward building four next. Perhaps I could show you ze way?" He sounded very hopeful that my answer would be a yes. "Oh, and my name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy." I nodded and tried to smile politely, but something about him was making my stomach want to hurl.

"Thanks, but I can manage," I replied, but then paused. It was be helpful if he showed me. After all, I would be lost if I decline. I sighed and added, "well, I suppose you could show me." His eyes lit and he smiled brightly. When the ending bell rung, we grabbed out jackets and headed to Building Six, into the rain that had picked up. Francis had an umbrella though, so we shared much to my disgust. And I could swear people were walking behind us close enough to eavesdrop. I hope I wasn't getting paranoid though and that they were just trying to get under the umbrella too.

"So, zhis is a lot differunt zhan your England country, no?" he asked.

"Very," I stated. Perhaps small talk wouldn't be so bad. I needed someone to help guide me through his horrible maze of a school. So he would simply be that, my guide. Nothing more.

"Doesn't it rain zhere just as much as 'ere?"

"Yes."

"Do you ever get sunshine?"

"Sometimes. But not as much as other places. London tends to be more cloudy." He nodded and studied me for a bit. Then we continued to the building in silence. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south building by the gym where my next class was located.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle to open the doors. "Maybe we will have some other classes together." He winked and then left. I sighed, rolling my eyes, and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr., Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduced myself. I didn't stuttered or trip as I made my way to my seat, but apparently there was something about me that made the some call me names.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never need the map. One boy sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and he walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. He was tiny, several inches shorter than my five foot four inches. I couldn't remember his name, but I recognized him as the blonde I saw in first class. So I only smiled and nodded as he prattled about teachers and classes with a Canadian accent. I didn't try to keep up. We sat at the end of a full table with several of his friends, who he introduced me to; and I learned his name to be Matthew. They seemed impressed by his courage to speak to me and I assumed by their stares that he was probably the shy type. He looked to be from my view. Glasses, long red sweater, hands always in pockets, a shy look.

The boy from English, Francis I believe, waved at me from the across the room and I inwardly groaned. He came to sat with us and apparently Matthew's friends were his friends. It was then, sitting awkwardly with all these strangers, that I saw the first group of people that looked almost identical to me. There were five of them. They weren't talking, weren't eating, and they were all holding bored looks just like myself. They were also dressed in the same fashion as me and for a second I was hoping they were from England, but I was wrong.

Of the five boys, one was big, reminding me of a Russian man with his near white hair, pale skin, and built tall body and fierce blue eyes. Another was slightly shorter, but still just as built and fierce, but his complexion reminded me of a German with golden-slicked back hair and dangerous dark blue eyes. The last was shorter and less built, but still muscular just lean. He had messy blonde hair much like mine, but had it fluffed back with one cowlick at the front sticking curved up at the ceiling. He wore glasses and surprisingly he looked like Matthew, but there was definite difference between them. He looked more childish than the other too, and seemed more lively with his bright, almost clear blue eyes. I couldn't tell what country he was from.

The two others were more feminine and definitely not muscular. There was one who was short with messily cut brown hair, one strand curving up at the back and lively brown eyes; he also seemed like an Italian man to me, but younger than the others. The other was of same height, with perfectly cut black hair that reached to his pale chin, his eyes black and he seemed to be Japanese.

Despite the features being extremely different, they all had one thing in common; the fashion and the dark shadows that hung under there eyes as if they hadn't slept in days.

They were all looking away - away from each other, away from other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small Italian boy rose with his tray - unopened soda, unbitten apple - and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runaway. I watched, amazed at his dancer's step, till he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possibly. My eyes darted back to the remaining others who sat unchanging and I finally decided to ask about them.

"Who are they?" I asked Matthew and he jumped, slightly startled as he was chatting away with Francis, blush covering his nose. As he looked up to see who I meant, suddenly he looked at him, the skinny boyish one. He looked at Matthew for just a fraction of a second and then his lively eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I cold, and in a flush of embarrassment I looked down. In that brief glance, his face held nothing of interest and I don't know if it was my imagination, but his eyes seemed to cloud over in some emotion I couldn't recognize. Though he had looked as if Matthew had called his name.

Matthew, however, giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. "That's Alfred, Ludwig, Ivan, and Kiku Jones. The one who left was Feliciano Jones; they all live together with Dr. Jones and his wife," he said under his breath. I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy who I guess was Alfred from the way she had stated the name first. He was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking to them quietly. Strange, unpopular names - most definitely from different countries.

"They are…very fashionable." I shrugged with conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" I jumped at the sudden outburst from the boy beside Francis who I think Matthew called Peter. He was as I previously learned my neighbor. "They're all together, though." I cocked a brow at his statement. "Like, Ivan and Kiku are togher, and Ludwig and Feliciano. And they all live together, it's very weird." His voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in London, it would cause gossip.

"So who is who?" I asked, wanting to know there names so I could be sure the handsome one was Alfred.

"They're all brothers, so it's hard to tell, but the boyish one is Alfred, the one who stared at us for a second. The one with white hair is Ivan, and the one with slicked hair is Ludwig. The one with black hair is Kiku, and I already told you who the one that left was." I nodded, looking back. So I had guessed his name right.

"Are you sure they are brothers?" I asked. "They look like their from different countries."

"Well, technically they are adopted except Alfred, but they act as if they are blood related. Ivan is Russian, Ludwig is German, Feliciano is Italian, Kiku is Japanese, and Alfred is American; he's the real son of Dr. Jones." I nodded, proud of my expertise of noticing different cultures, but shocked to know that Alfred was American. But I'm glad to know he wasn't as the teens I see now.

"That's really nice of them to take care of them all. Especially them being so young and all," I stated. Peter laughed.

"They're actually older than us. Ivan and Ludwig are eighteen. Alfred is seventeen. Then Feliciano and Kiku are both sixteen."

"Oh. It's still nice though."

"I guess," he stated, and I started to hear the disinterest in his voice, giving me the impression that he didn't like them very much. With the glances he was given, I would presume the reason was jealousy. Throughout the whole conversation, though, I couldn't stop my eyes from flickering again at the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked, interrupted Peter. He looked irritated with me bringing them up again, but I was curious.

"No, he said. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska." I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because as beautiful as they were, they were outsides like me, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here in Forks, even if they had a two year lead on me. As I examined them, the boyish one, Alfred, looked up and met my gaze again, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away in embarrassment, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"So the boyish one is Alfred?" I asked, peeking at him from the corner of my eye and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other studens had today; he had a slightly frustrated expression and I look down again.

"Yeah, that's Alfred F. Jones. Totally hot, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently no one - boy or girl - here are good looking enough for him," Peter sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wonder when he'd turn him down. I bit my lip to hid my smile. Then I glanced at him again. He face was turned away now, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted as if he were smiling too. I was suddenly wanting to see that smile, thinking it would be extremely handsome with his features.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful - even the big Russian one, Ivan. It was unsettling to watch. Alfred didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Peter and Matthew and the rest longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my fast day. Luckily, Matthew had Biology two with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. He was definatley shy as I had figured when we entered class, because he quickly took his seat, leaving me to find an empty one. All the tables were full though, so it didn't take long to find a empty chair, but it sat next to another which was occupied. I looked up and saw Alfred.

As I walked to the teacher's desk, I introduce myself and gave him my slip signed. I watched Alfred surreptitiously and when the teacher handed my book to me, I went to the empty chair when he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again as I sat, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face - it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over the book in my to place it on the counter top. I chanced a glance again and notice he was still glaring at me, but what was strange was that his lively blue eyes I had saw in the cafeteria were now a solid coal black. I kept my eyes down then, bewildered by the atagonistic stare he was giving me. I didn't look up anymore, but I could see his posture from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and adverting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair as best I could. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor.

I gulped and tried to pay attention to the teacher. Unforunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied on. I took note carefully anyway just in case there was something different in his teaching ways, and I remained looking down. Though I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally out the corner of my eye. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin, and muscle I had not seen before showing through his brown, black laced jacket. This, too, he never relaxed.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others did. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he was not breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normally behavior? I questioned my judgment on Peter's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I had thought. It could not have anything to do with me. He did not know me.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his coal eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking again my chair, the phra seif looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump. Alfred Jones was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose - he was much taller than myself, towering over me - his back to me, and he was the door before anyone else was out of his or her seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so rude and ill mannered. So much for my accurate guesses on people. It was not fair, though, his attitude towards me. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Are ya Arthur Kirklan'?" a male voice thick with a Scottish accent asked. I looked up to see a strong face topped with spiked red hair, smiling at me in a friendly, brotherly way. He obviously did not think I smelt.

"Yeah," I replied with a smile.

"I'm Scott."

"Hi, Scott."

"Do ya need any help finding' yer next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it," I stated.

"Dat's me next class, too!" He seemed thrilled, though it was not that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; he was a very talkative man - he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He had lived in Scotland until he was ten before moving here to America. It turned out he was in my Literature class also, but I had not notice him. So far, beside Matthew, he was the nicest person Id' met today.

However, as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did ya stab Alfred wit' a pencil or what? I have never seen 'im act like dat." I cringed. So I was not the only one who had noticed. And apparently, that was not Alfred Jones's usual behavior. Perfect. I decided to play dumb.

"What that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yeah," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or somedin'."

"I don't know," I responded. "I have never spoken to him."

"He's a weird guy, dat Jones." Scott lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room which I wanted to avoid, but was going to have to anyways. Did not want my outfit to stink of sweat. I was held in a sigh of relief when the Coach came up and made him go.

"Alright. I am Coach Cross. Here is your uniform. We're playing basketball so be ready," he stated then just left. I gulped and took the uniform into the locker room, avoiding the rest of the guys as best as I could as I tried to change in private. Finally, we were all on the court, playing. Well, they were playing. I was trying not to be hit. The Coach kept yelling at us, me especially.

"Come on, Kirkland! Get in there!" I flinched when the ball came hurling at me, and I slapped it away, causing it to hit Scott in the head. Coach blew his whistle and I hurried over to Scott to examine the damage.

"I'm really sorry, Scott. I'm horrible at sports, and I just -"

"It's alright," he replied smiling. I smiled slightly, but felt guilty. Before I could say anything, though, Coach came over and shot me out, making me sit on the benches. I heard the other guys laughing at me, calling me a wuss. I was thankful to be on the benches though. At least now they could actually play without me being in the way and I would not be a danger to anyone else's head.

The final bell rang at last and I was already back into my comfortable outfit. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong and colder. I enjoyed it was best as I could before walking into the over heated office, but as I did, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Alfred Jones stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized the blonde cowlick. He did not appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice and I could not stop the shiver that ran down my spine or the little blood flow that wanted to go towards my private regions. I ignored it and quickly picked up the gist of the argument.

He was trying to trade from sixth hour Biology to another time - any other time. I just could not believe that his was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opening again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Alfred's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me - his face was absurdly handsome - with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the cold wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for you help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced; I most definitely wasn't convinced myself.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last vehicle in the lot, than god. It seemed like a haven, already the closet thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was a bit warm from the windows being up, and rolled down my side. I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.

* * *

**So it's a bit rough. I'm trying to make it a bit different than the book but keep it on the same page. Sorry for any mistakes. But, chapter two should be up either in a few more hours or at least by tomorrow. Thanks! R&R please. **


	2. Open Book

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

* * *

**Chapter 2: Open Book**

The next was better…and worse. It wasn't raining so my outift wouldn't get wet, but thankfully it was cloudy so the sun wouldn't irritate me. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Scott came to sit by me in Literature, and walked me to my next flass, with Francis glaring at him all the while; that was nattering.

People didn't look at me as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Scott, Francis, Matthew, Peter, and a few others whose names I forgot. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it. It was worse because I was tired, though; I still couldn't sleep at nights.

It was also worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand was clearly not raised and sadly I had the incorrect answer. It was miserable in Physical Education class because I was horrible at the sports. I would cring out of the way of the ball, and always - for some inexplainable reason - hit Scott in the head with it.

And it was worse because Alfred was absent in school. All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glances. Part of me wanted to confront him and deman to know what exactly was his problem for taking such a hatred to me in such a short amount of time. But there was something in my gut keeping me away from doing so.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Peter - trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely - I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not amongst them. Scott intercepted us before I could search more, though, and steered us to his table. Peter seemed elated by the attention, and his friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.

He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense. I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't appeared. Scott, who was taking on the qualitites of a golden retriver, walked faithfully by my side to class - giving me the vibe of an older brother. I held my breath at the door, but Alfred Jones was not there. I exhaled and went to my seat. Scott followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach.

He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Scott, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I ad never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys since back in England, many of the boys there weren't of my orientation. They chased after large breast and long legged women while I chased - or failed to chase - after strong, atheletic men. Like Alfred. ..Wait, did I just refer to Alfred? Great.

Though I was relieved that I had the desk to myself. I told myself that repeatedly, trying to excuse the feeling of missing his presence there. It was ridiculous to think that while he felt anger towards me, I felt attraction.  
When the school day was finally over, and the blush was fading out from my cheeks thanks to another horrible basketbal incident, I changed quickly back into my black vest, white long sleeve, and grey slacks. I hurried from the locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot.

It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had all the necessary items I needed for this nights homework assignments. Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much to save his life - sadly I took that trait - so today I had to go and pick up the meal. He agreed completely, not even denying his horrible cooking skills.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and carefully backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's vehicale, I saw the four Jones getting into their car. It was the shiny Volvo I'd noticed before. It was only them, no friends hanging around or chatting. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty. They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The store was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I feel into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I opened the already cooked pizzas I'd bought and placed them on the table, only grabbing two slices for me and leaving the rest for him. When I was finished with that, I took my pizza and bag upstairs. Before I started my homework, I changed into my sweat pants and black t-shirt, drying my damp hair and then checking my email for the first time. I had three messages.

"Arthur," my mom wrote, "Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining like here? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom."  
I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first. "Arthur," she wrote again. "Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom." The last was from this morning. "Arthur Kirkland, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 pm today, I'm calling Charlie." I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun. I began to type.

"Mum, calm down. I'm writing at this moment, so do not do anything rash or unreasonable. Arthur." I sent that bad began again. "Mum, everything is fine so far. Of course it is raining here. I was waiting for something to happen so I could write about it to you. These past days have been uneventful. School is not as bad as I thought it would be, just a little repetitive. I met some really nice lads who sit by me at lunch. Your blouse is located at the dry cleaners - you were suppose to have picked it up on Friday. Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I know I can't, but I do love it. It's old and doesn't have much class as I'd hope, but it's really strudy which is excellent, you know, for me. I miss you as well and I'll write to you again as soon as I possibly can, but I'm not going to be checking my e-mail every five minutes. I do have things to do like assignments and things, mum. So relax, breathe. I love you. Arthur. *Ps, don't forget to pay bills, eat, and sleep."

I had decided to read Wuthering Heights afterwards - the novel we were currently studying in Literature - and that's what I was going when Charlie came home. I walked downstairs to greet him - and to also put away my plate that I had forgotten about.

"Arthur?" he called out when he heard me on the stairs. Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen to get him a glass of milk. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily, thinking I probably had changed my mind a cooked. My mother was an imaginative cook and her experiments were also not edible. So I guess me being a good cook in this family was impossible.

"Pizza," I answered, "from the store." He looked relieved, but seemed to feel akward staning in the kitchen doing tnohing; he lumbered into the living room to watch the television set while I gathered him about four sliced and took it to him.

"Thanks, Artie."

"You're welcome." I had grabbed two more sliced for myself and we ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking a bite.

"Well, I have a few classes with this very giddy boy named Peter. I sit with him and his friends at lunch. And there's this other - a Scottish boy named Scott - who's very friendly. Everyone seems to be pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Scott McCallen. Nice kid - nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Jones family?" I asked hesitantly. I shouldn't be discussing them, but since I couldn't get that much information from Peter without her getting too irritated, I decided to ask Charlie.

"Dr. Jones's family? Sure. Dr. Jones is a great man."

"They…the kids…are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school." I almost added 'like me', but stopped myself. Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Jones is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him - lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature - I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should - camping trips every other weekend…Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I have ever heard from Charlie. He must feel strongly about whatever people are saying about the Jones. I backpedaled.

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good this he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He threw away the boxes while I washed the plates. He went back to the television set, and after I finished washign the plated, I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math assignments. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night was quiet, no rain. I feel asleep quickly. The rest of the week was uneventful again. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday, I was able to recognize almost all the students at school. In Gym, the guys learned not to pass me the bacl and to step quickly in front of me if someone tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Alfred Jones didn't come back to school. Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Jones entered the cafeteria without him. Then I would relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Scott was putting together. I was invited and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Besides, there was wale-watching as Matthew put it.

By Friday, I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Alfred would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally surppres the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more a cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so porrly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got…and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well. Apparently even if I loved the rian, it kept me energetic which explained my previous, restless nights. People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning and I loved it. In English, Scott took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I would had thought I'd feel by this point. More confortable than I had ever expected to feel here in Forks, in America.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Scott said. "It's snowin'." I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face. I smiled brightly.

"Ya like snow?" Scott asked me.

"Of course," I said. "It almost always snows in London, especially during the winter." I held my hands out and catched the soft cold specks; they almost immediately melted against my warm skin. I giggled - slightly confused at my action but past caring - and caught more. Peter laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head.

We turned around to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Francis, whose back was toward us, opposite his class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. I shook my head with a giggle.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I asked, turning to walk inside. He just nodded, his eyes on Francis's retreating figure.  
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Peter after Spanish, not wanting any snowballs thrown at me or it would have been an all out war. Mush balls were already flying everywhere. I kept a bider in my heads, ready for a shield. Peter thought I was hilarious.

Scott caught up with us as we walked through the doors, laughing with ice metling the spikes in his hair. He and Peter were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced towards that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood.  
There were five people at the table.

"Hello, Arthur?" Peter pulled on my arm. "What do you want?" I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I remind myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"W'at's wit' Artie?" Scott asked Peter.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Peter asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. I waited for htem to get their food, and then followed them to a tabe, my eyes on my feet. I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Scott asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.

I decided to permit myself one gance at the Jones family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology. If not, I'd go. Reasonable enough. I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashed. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little. To my shock…they were laughing.

Alfred, Ludwig, and Ivan all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Feliciano and Kiku were leaning away as Ivan shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else - only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. But, asied from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what the difference was. I examined Alfred the most. His smile - his laugh - was just amazing. It made his face glow, making him look more like a boy than before. It made him look young and it made it hard to believe he was seventeen. He looked more like fifteen now. His skin was also less pale - as I took not - flushed from the snow fight maybe, and it was bringing inappropriate thoughts into my mind about him, thoughts that revolved around words like sexy, hot…The circles under his eyes were less noticeable. But there was something I was missing. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Arthur, what are you staring at?" Peter intruded, her eyes following my stare. At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mind. I dropped my head. I was sure, though, in the moment our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had before. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Alfred Jones is staring at you," Peter giggled in my ear.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," he said, sounding confused at my question. "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt quesy. I put my head down on my arm.

"The Jones don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I hissed, embarrassed. He snickered but looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that he did, contemplating violence if he resisted. Scott interrupted us then - he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Peter agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at Scott left little doubt that he would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I'd go to Biology. My stomach did frightening little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again. I didn't really want to walk to class with Scott as usual - he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers - but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I tried to hide my pleased smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Scott kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four. Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the classroom, distributing one microscope and a box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.  
I heard very clearly when the chair next ot me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the patter I was drawing.

"Hey," said a quiet, musical voice - thick with an American accent unlike the rest of the students here. I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as dar away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet - the cowlick still denying gravity - even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his - now blue again - eyes were careful.

"Name's Alfred, Alfred Jones," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You're Arthur Kirkland, right?" My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made the whole thing up? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-How do you know of my name?" I stammered, blushing at the stupidity of the question. But he laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone here knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to get here." I grimaced. I knew it was something like that, but not that big. Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't suppose to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," he commanded.

"Youngest first, partner?" Alfred asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile and it made my skin crawl and mouth go dry. "Or I could start." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.

"No," I said flushing. "I'll go ahead." I was showing off just a little. I'd already done this lab and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40x objective. I studied the slide briefly. My assessment was confident.

"Prophase."

"Mind if I check it?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice cold but it was burning my skin in pleasure. I had to bite my inner bottom lip to supress a moan that shouldn't be there in the first place as a shock passed through us.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time that I had.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it in the first space on our work sheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it.

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. I kept my voice indifferent.

"May I?" He smirked and pushed the microscope to me. I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Bloody hell, he was right.

"Slide three?" he asked and I held out my hand without looking at him. He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I don't know if it was because he was uncomfortable with it, or he had experience the same thing as me. I doubt the second, though.

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but he seemed to like writing it. We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Scott and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Which left me with nothing to do but try and not look at him…unsuccessfully.

I glanced up, and he was staring at me, the same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly, I noticed that it was his blue eyes that were different. They were blue at first, but black last time we saw each other before his disappearing act.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. He seemed puzzled by me unexpected question.

"No."

"Oh," I mumbled. Strange. "I thought there was something different about your eyes." I didn't want to mention the color change - which could've been my imagination. He shrugged, and looked away. I didn't understand the color change, unless he was lying about contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the work. I looked down. His hand were clenched into hard fists again.  
Mr. Banner came to our table, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Alfred, didn't you think Artie should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Arthur," Alfred corrected automatically, making my cheeks flush, "and actually, he identified three of the five." Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked. I smiled sheepishly.

"Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yes sir." Mr. Banner nodded.

"Were you in an advanced placement program in London?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he lef, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, huh?" Alfred asked. I could tell he was trying to force himself to make small talk with me; probably to make up for the ill treatment.

"Yeah," I agreed. It was bad it went away so quickly after it started.

"You like the cold?" he asked.

"Most definitely," I answered, "and the rain." He looked happy about that, smiling brightly like a child who just got a new toy.

"Forks must be a good place to live, then," he mused. I chuckeld slightly, nodding.

"Yes. It's good that there isn't much of a difference between London and here." He nodded and suddenly his face was such a distraction thatI tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you move here instead of staying in London?" No one has bothered to ask me this - not straight out like he did, demanding. I was taken back for a moment.

"It's…complicated."

"Pretty sure I can keep up," he pressed. I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His blue eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound bad," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did it happen"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like the guy?" Alfred surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is quite fine, a respectable man. Too young for one of my mother's age, but still nice."

"Why not stay with them, then?" I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important for him to know.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays baseball for a living." I half smiled at the irony.

"What's his name again?" he asked, smiling in reponse. Maybe he likes baseball.

"He's not that famous. He doesn't play well, just strictly minor league. He moved around a lot, though."

"And so you just moved here so your mom could travel with him." He said it as an assumption, not a question. My eyes widened at his accuracy.

"Uhm, I suppose I did. I wanted to make her happy."

"But you're not happy now, are you?" he asked. My brows furrowed.

"No, that's not entirely true. Forks - well, America - has it's differences, but it's not all bad." He nodded.

"But you're hiding it," he stated. I cocked a brow at him. "You're suffering way more than you let anyone see." I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick my tongue out at him in a childish manner, and looked away. "Am I wrong?" I tried to ingore him. "Didn't think so,"he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher made his rounds.

"That's a good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked and he sounded amused. I glanced at him without thinking…and the told the truth again.

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is too easy to read - my mum has always called me her open book." I frowned.

"Actually, I find you very hard to read." Despite everything that I'd said he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be an excellent reader then," I replied. He smirked.

"Usually." Mr. Banner called the class in order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may nor despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eyes, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.  
I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overheard projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable. When the bell finally rang, Alfred rushed as swiftly and gracefully out of the room as he had last Monday. And like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.

Scott skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail and held back the chuckle.

"Dat was awful," he groaned. "Dey all looked exactly de same. Ya're lucky ya had Jones fer a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. "I have completeled this lab work before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

"Jones seemed friendly enough taday," he commented as we shrugged into our coats. He didn't seem pleased about it. I tried to concentrate on Scott's chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE. didn't do much to hodl my attention, either .Scott was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I missed it as soon as I was in my truck. I removed my coat and rolled down the window just a tad to let the cold air in. I looked around to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Afred Jones was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of.

I took a deep breath, and still lookking out the other side of my truck, cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.

* * *

**So here's the next chapter like I promised. You can start to notice some differences like how Bella hates rain/snow/cold, but Arthur loves it, etc. Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. A thanks to TearsHiddenInTheRain for a first comment, and a thanks to The Artist Formaly Known As, and Mei15 for being the first followers along with TearsHiddenInTheRain! R&R please. **


	3. Phenomenon

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

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**Chapter 3: Phenomenon **

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different. It was light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window. I jumped to look outside and nearly jumped in joy. A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. There were even icycles everywhere from when it had rain yesterday. Today was going to be a great day.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school and it slightly scared me, but I didn't care. I knew, though, that it wasn't the stimulating learning enviroment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Alfred Jones. And that was very, very ignorant.

I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today.

Finishing my breakfast, I headed out to my truck with my bad and climbed in. Driving to school, I distracted myself from the icy road - for I fear I would wreck - and from my unwanted speculations about Alfred Jones by thinking about Scott and Francis, and the obvious difference in how teenage boys responded to me here. I was sure I looked the same as I had in London. Maybe it was just that the boys back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescense and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novalities were few and far between. Whatever the reason, Scott's puppy dog behavior and Francis's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, just in case. When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eyes, and I walked to the back of the truch to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't udes to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise. Then suddenly, I heard an odd sound.  
It was a high pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled. I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make any brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Alfred Jones was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in complete horror; my face probably mirroring his. But his face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked nad squealing against the brakes, spinning widly across across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truch, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes. Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming.

It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again. A low oath made me away that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered ot a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body. Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, still they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt - exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Alfred Jones's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Arthur, you ok?"

"I'm quite fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body in an iron gasp. My cheeks flushed in embarrasment.

"Careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty badly." I became away of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"Exactly." His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter.

"How in the bloody hell…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you manage to get to me so quickly?"

"I was standing right next to you, Arthur," he said, his tone serious again. I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my waist - which caused my skin to tingle in delight again - and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his blue eyes. What was I asking him?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Someone get him out of the van!" someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Alfred's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But the ground's freezing my arse," I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound. "You were over there," I suddenly remember, and his chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car." His expression turned hard.

"No, I wasn't.

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the cene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going ot admit it.

"Arthur, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He unleashed the full, devasting power his eyes had on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

"No." I set my jaw. The blue in his eyes blazed.

"Please, Arthur."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," he pleased, his soft voice overwhelming. I could hear the sirens now.

"Will you promise to explain everything to me at a later time?"

"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated using the same tone. It took six EMTs nad two teachers - Mr. Varner and the Coach - to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Alfred vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Alfred got to ride in the front. It was maddening. To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Arthur!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Char - Dad," I sighed. "There is nothing wrong me at all." He turned to the closet EMT for a second opinion. I turned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper - a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Alfred's shoulders…as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapporvoal to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just witnessed - a solution that excluded the assumption I was insane. Naturally, the ambluance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Alfred simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I ground my teeth together. They put me in the ermgency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermeter under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I deicded to wasn't obligated to wear the neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry fo hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized it was a guy from my Governement class, but I couldn't remember his name. He was wrapped with bloodstained bandages that were tight around his head, and he looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

"Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm quiet alright - you look terrible, though. Are you fine?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek. He ignored me.

"I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry," I replied, "you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm, Alfred pulled me out of the way." He looked confused.

"Who?"

"Alfred Jones - he was standing next to me." A bad lie; he didn't seem convinced just as I wasn't.

"Jones? I didn't see him…wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I believe so. He is somewhere here, but they didn't make him use a stretcher." I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain what I had seen. They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, but they insisted. I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first.

So I was trapepd in the ER, waiting, harassed by my near murderer's constant apologies nad promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was alright, he continued to torment himself; guilt probably eating his insides. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is he sleeping?" a musical oice asked. My eyes flew open and there was Alfred, standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It wasn't easy - it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Alfred, I'm really sorry -" that guy began. Alfred easily lifted his hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his brilliant teeth, and shockingly the guy shut up. Alfred move to sit on the edge of the guy's bed, facing me. He smirked again.

"So what's the damage?" he asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they will not let me leave," I complained. "How come you are not strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you." Then a doctore walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blonde…and more handsome than any man I'd seen in movies or modeling. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Dr. Jones, Alfred's father.

"So, Mr. Kirkland," Dr. Jones said in a remarkably appealing voice that sounded more British like mine than American., "how are you feeling?

"I'm well," I said, for the last time I hoped. He walked to the light board on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look well," he said. "Does you head ache? Alfred said you hit it pretty roughly."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Alfred who only bit his lip sexily to hold back a smirk. Bloody idiot. Though my attention was pulled away when cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse. I heard a chuckle and looked over to see Alfred's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room - you can go home now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I return back to the school?" I asked.

"Maybe you should take it easy today." I glanced at Alfred.

"Does he get to go back?"

"Someone has to spread the good news of our victorious win over death!" Alfred said in a somewhat happy voice, one that sent shivers up and down my spine, blood to my…well, you get the image.

"Actually," Dr. Jones corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh, bloody hell," I groaned, covering my face with my hands. Dr. Jones raised his eyebrows.

"Do you wish to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly - I staggered, and Dr. Jones caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured him again, "just clumsy." He chuckled and let me go.

"Well, it seems your stubborn, though from an incident like this, you're lucky to be standing here," he stated, signing my chart with a flourish.

"I'm lucky that Alfred happened to be standing near me," I amended with a hard glance to Alredy of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Jones agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him which cause me to be suspicious. He then looked away and moved on to the bed beside me, checking that guy out. The doctor had to know the real reason.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us just a little longer," he said to him and began checking his cuts. As soon as his back was turned, I moved to Alfred's side.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?" I hissed under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your dad is waiting," he said through his teeth. I glanced at Dr. Jones.

"I'd like to speak with you alone, if you do not mind," I pressed. He glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were coal again. His unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out less severity than I'd intended.

"You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.

"I saved your life - I don't ower you a thing." I flinched back from the resentment in his voice.

"You promised."

"Arthur, you hit your head, you don't know what you're saying." His tone was cutting. My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at him.

"There's nothing ill with my head." He glared back at me.

"What do you want?"

"I want to truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?" he snapped. It came out in a rush.

"All I understand is you weren't anywhere around me - the guy in the van didn't see you either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both - and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side ot it - and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all - and the van should have crushed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad, I could fear the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grining my teeth. He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor. I merely nodded once, jaw tight. "No one's gonna believe that." His voice held an edge of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell a bloody soul about this," I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger. Surprised flitted across his face.

"Than why ask me?"

"I want to know the truth."

"Can you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

"You're still not gonna let it go, are you?"

"No."

"Then I hope you enjoy disappointment." We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"Why did you even bother to save me?"I asked frigidly. He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning gace was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," he whispered. And then he turned his back on me and walked away. I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move, and when I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the exact mood for chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Jones looked me over and he said I was alright and able to go home." I sighed. Scott, Peter, Matthew, and Francis were all there, beginning to converge on us. Peter and Matthew looked like they had gone hours through crying, and Scott and Francis weren't too far behind, though they tried to hide it well. "Let's go," I urged, not wanting to deal with all their drama. I just wanted to leave, go home, and rest - try to forget this day even happened. Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief - the first time I'd ever felt that way - to get into the cruiser.  
We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Alfred's defensive behavior in the hall confirmed my reasons for what happened recently. When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um…you'll need to call your mom." He hung his head, guilty. I was appalled.

"You told my mum!"

"Sorry." I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than I needed to, but it was necessary for me so I wouldn't end up hitting Charlie for his idiotic move. My mum was in hysterics - as guessed. I had to tell her I felt just fine at least thirty times - or more - before she finally calmed down. She begged me to come back to London - forgetting our home was empty now - but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought.  
I was consumed by the mystery of Alfred presented. And more than a little obsessed with him; but I wasn't going to admit that any time soon. Absurd thoughts. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normaly, sane person would be. I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me like a hawk, and it was getting on my last nerve. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain ceased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamt of Alfred Jones…

* * *

**Chapter 3! Yay! Sorry for previous mistakes. I corrected them and re-read this one so there should be no more - but there might be and if there is I'm reaaaaaally sorry :( . Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. A thanks to Eurlenette, CelestialCiel, and The Artist Formaly Known As for the reviews! R&R please. **


	4. Invitations

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

* * *

**Chapter 4: Invitations**

In my dream, it was very dark. What dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Alfred's skin. I couldn't see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't rest again for what seemed like hours. After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within grasp.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and at first, embarrassing. To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. The guy - who I later learned was named Yao Wang, a Chinese guy though he didn't look it. He looked more darker and I figured he must be mixed. He was impossible to stand, though, following me around and obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget the accident every happened, especially since I wasn't harmed - but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes, and sat at out now-crowded lunch table. Scott and Francis were even less friend ling toward him than they were to each other - my guess being they thought they had another competitor - and I was worried I had brought another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Alfred, though I explained over and over that he was the hero - which he seemed highly smug about - how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed too. I tried to be convincing. Peter, Matthew, Scott, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't seen him there till the van was pulled away. I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away before he was suddenly - and impossibly - there to save my life. With chagrin, I realized the problem cause - no one else was as aware of Alfred as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.

Alfred was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as usualy. The Jones sat at the same table as always, not eating, only talking among themselves. None of them, especially Alfred, glanced my way anymore.

When he sat next to me in class, as far as the table would allow, he seemed completely unaware of my presences. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up - skin stretched even whiter over the bones - did I wonder if he wasn't quite as oblivious as he appeared. He wished he hadn't pulled me from the ath of Yao's van - there was no other conclusion I could come to. I wanted very much to talk with him, and the dary after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen him, outside the ER, we'd both been so furious. I still was angry that he wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had in fact saved my life, no matter how he'd don't it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude.

He was already seated when I arried into Biology, looking straight ahead. I saw down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he realized I was there.

"Hello, Alfred," I said pleasantly, to show him I was going to behave myself. He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way. And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself - from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his light blue eyes grew darker by the day. But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my e-mails alerted my mum to my despression and she called a few times, worried of course. I tried to convince her it was something else that had me down in the dumps.

Scott at least was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he'd been woried that Alfred's daring rescue might have been to impress me, and he was relived that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before class began, ignoring Alfred who completely ignored us. The snow washed away for good after hat one dangerously icy day. Scott was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Peter made me aware of another even looming on the horizon - he called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Scott to the spring dance in two weeks.

"Are you sure you don't mind…you weren't planning to ask him?" he persisted when I told him I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Peter, I'm not going," I assured him. Sure, I was quite the dancer in London, but I just didn't feel like going with anyone but…I stopped myself right there. Ignorant.

"It will be really fun." His attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Peter enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company.

"You have fun with Scott," I encouraged. The next day, I was surprised that Peter wasn't his usual gushing seld in Trig and Spanish. He was silent as he walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask. If Scott had turned him down, I was the last person he would want to tell. My fears were strengthened furing lunch when Peter sat as far from Scott as possible, chatting animatedly with Francis. Scott was unusually quiet. Scott was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk.

As always, I was electrically aware of Alfred sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely an ivention of my imagination.

"So," Scott said, looking at the floor. "Peter asked me ta de sprin' dance." Oh no.

"That's great,' I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Peter."

"Well…" He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happen with my response. "I told 'im I had ta t'ink about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let my disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't give him an absolute no. His face went bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.

"I was wonderin' if…well, if ya might be plannin' ta ask me." I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Alfred's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Scott, I think you should tell Peter yes," I said.

"Did ya already ask someone?" Did Alfred notice how Scott's eyes flickered in his direction

"No," I assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Scott demanded. I didn't want to get into the detail of not going if I didn't had a date, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to be leaving for Seattle that day," I explained. I needed to get out of twon anyway - it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"Can't ya go some ot'ers weeken'?"

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Peter wait any longer - it's rude."

"Yeah, ya're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes. And Alfred was staring at me curiously, the same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his coal eyes. Coal again…why?

I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away.

"Mr. Jones?" the teacher called, seeing the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Alfred answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner. I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released mine, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my bangs behind my ear, cheeks hot. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me - just because he happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow him to hav this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be away of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was away of him. When the bell ran at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

"Arthur?" His voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks. I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to him; his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice. His lips twitched, fighting a smile.

"Not really," he admitted. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. He waited.

"Then what do you want, Alfred?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to him coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere. "I'm bring rude. But it's better like that." I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I said, my voice guarded.

"It's better if we aren't friends," he explained. "Trust me." My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I hissed through my teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van kill me." He was astonished. He stared at me in disbelief. When he finally spoke, he almost sounded as mad as myself.

"You think I regret saving your life?"

"I know you do," I snapped.

"You don't know anything." He was definitely mad. I turned my head sharply away from him, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl at him. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of th room, but of course I tripped and my books clattered to the floor. I thought to leave them, to just keep walking away, but decided against it and bent to retrieve them. Though he was already there, stacking them. He handed them to me and my eyes narrowed.

"Thank you," I said icily. His eyes mirrored mine.

"You're welcome,' he retorted. I straightned up swiftly, turned away from him again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brual. We'd move to indoor football. My team never passed me the ball, which I was thankful for, but I kept getting slammed and tackled anyways. I couldn't really dodge quickly enough because Alfred kept filling my head. I tried to concentrate, but he kept creeing into my thought just when I really needed to focus. It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage to the accident, so I hurried inside it, rolled the window down and was about to leave when someone leaning on my truck caught my attention. It was just Francis.

"Hello, Francis," I called.

"Bonjour, Alfred."

"What is it?" I said, looking out my window. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"I was just wondering…if you would honor me in accompanying me to ze dance?" His voice brke on the last word. Oh bloody hell. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying best to conceal my anger. I recovered and tried to make a warm smile.

"Thank you for asking, but I will be away in Seattle that day. I'm sorry."

"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time, oui?"

"Of course," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally. He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle. Alfred was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I frowned and revved my egine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Alfred was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, purposely cutting me off. He stopped there - to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo and blame it on PMS, but there were too many witnesses and sadly I wasn't a girl. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Perfect.

While I was sitting there, looking anywhere but at the car ahead, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Yao. I glanced back to see his new van still running with the door opened. I leaned over and rolled down the window.

"I'm terribly sorry, Yao, but I'm caught behind Jones." I was annoyed - obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh I know - I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned. This could not be happening. "Will you go to spring dance with me?" he continued. Bloody fucking hell. Honestly? How many fucking guys are going to keep asking me that!

"I'm not going to be in town that day, Yao. Sorry," I stated, my voice just a little sharp, but I couldn't help it.

"Yeah, Scott said that," he admitted.

"Then why -?" He shrugged.

"I was hoping you were just letting him down easy." Okay, it was completely his fault.

"Sorry, Yao," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's okay. We still have prom." And before I could respond, he was walking back to his van. I could feel the shock on my face.  
I looked forward to see Feliciano, Kiku, Ivan, and Ludwig all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Alfred's eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laugther, as if he'd heard every word Yao said. My foot itched to press the gas pedal…one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy pain job. I revved the enging. But they wre all in, and Alfred was speeding away. I hurried home, muttering the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to cook the frozen chicken for supper. All I had to do was stick it in the oven for thirty minutes and I'd be finished. No actual cooking. It wasn't ten minutes though, till the phone rang. I went to the hallway and answered it, almost thinking it was my mum or Charlie. It was Peter and he was jubilant; Scott had caught him after school to accept his invitation. I celebrated with him briefly while I watched the over. He had to go, he wanted to call Matthew and someone else to tell them. I suggested - with casual innocence - that maybe Matthew should ask Francis, and the other girl ask Yao. Peter thought it was a great idea. Now that he was sure of Scott, he actually sounded sinere when he said he wished I would go to the dance. I gave him my Seattle excuse. Afer I hung up, it was time to take out the chicken. I diced it up carefully and placed it on the table, putting on the plates and grabbing Charlie a beer from the fridge. He was working late, and it's what American's did when they had long stressful days at work; I think.

As I waited, my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Alfred had spoken today. What idd he mean, it was better if we weren't friends? My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on…so we couldn't even be friends…because he wasn't interested in me at all for he was straight. My eyes began to sting. Why did I have to fall for the straight one? The mysterious…and perfect…and beautiful…and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with his bare hand guy? Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. This won't phase me. I don't care. I'm better off without him anyways. He's only caused me stress and emotional whiplashes.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled chicken. I told him it was cooked before I stuffed it in the oven. He was a cop and used his bravery skills to take the first bite and I rolled my eyes when he let out the sigh of relief that it was indeed cooked by someone else.

"Dad?" I asked, when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Artie?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I will be going to Seattle for the day a week from this Saturday…is that alright?" I didn't want to ask permission - it set a bad precedent - but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few book - the libraby here is pretty limited to my taste - and I was also thinking about looking for some more clothes since my wardrobe is thin as it is." I had more money than I was used to having, might as well go a little crazy and spend some.

"The truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said echoing my thoughts .

"I know, I'll be stoping in Montesano and Olympia - and Tacoma if needed."

"Are you going by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was worried about a secret boyfriend or car trouble.

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city - you could get lost," he fretted.

"Dad, London is five times the size of Seatle - and I can read a map, do not worry about it."

"Do you want me to come?" I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

"That's quiet alright, Dad. I'll probably just be in dressing rooms, fitting over clothes - you wouldn't want to be around all that gay stuff, very boring."

"Oh, okay." The thought of 'gay stuff' immediately put him off. He didn't care if I was gay, but he wasn't fond of it.

"Thank you." I smiled at him.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?" Bloody hell. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

"No - I don't have a date, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that I don't easily get dates - discluding Scott, Francis, and Yao. Luckily, he understood.

"Oh, that's right,' he realized.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the truck, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright, only to regret it as I heard a groan behind me and felt a pain in my head. I turned and saw Alfred rubbing his chin as I rubbed my head. My cheeks burned in embrassment.

"I'm so terribly sorry!" I said, confused as I shouldn't care. He handed me my keys, still rubbing his jaw.

"It's ok," he mumbled, leaning against my truck. I nodded, then anger controlled me, as well as suspiscion. Wasn't he at his car just seconds ago?

"How do you do that?" I asked in amazed irritation.

"Do what?" he asked, still holding his chin. Baby. I couldn't have hurt him that badly. If he can survive the van accident, he could survive my stubborn head.

"Appear out of thin air, of course."

"Arthur, it's not my fault you don't pay attention." His voice was quiet as usual - velvet, muted. I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a shimmering ocean blue. Then I had to look down, to reassmeble my now tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam yesterday evening?" I demanded, still looking away. "I thought you were suppose to be pretending I do not exist, not irritate me to death."

"That was for Yao, to give him a chance." He snickered.

"You…!" I gaped. I couldn't think of a bad enough bad. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued.

"So you are trying to irritate me to deat? Since Yao's can didn't do the job?" Anger flahed in his eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone. Again with the emotional whiplash.

"Arthur, you're so stupid," he said, his low voice cold. My palms tingled, my face burned - I wanted so badly to hit that angelic face. I was surprising myself. I was usually not this violent of a person. I turned my back and started to walk away. "Wait!" he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. He grabbed my arm and whipped me around, almost making me fall, but I caught my balance and glared at him.

"What?" I hissed. He looked hurt.

"I'm sorry. That was rude," he said. I ignored his apology. "I'm not saying it isn't true," he continued, "but it was rude to say it to your face, anyway."

"What is wrong with you? Can't you just leave me alone and quit suffocating me with your all your bloody emotional drama?" I yelled, causing heads to turn. Ugh! This could not be happening. I just wanted to go to class, and get this day over with!

"I wanted to ask you something, but you made me forget," he chuckled. He seemed to recovered his good humor.

"Honestly, do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severly.

"You're doing it again." I sighed.

"Fine. What is it that you must ask me?"

"I was thinking if, a week from Saturday - you know, that day of the dance -"

"Are you trying to be funny?" I interrupted him. His eyes were wickedly amused.

"Will you let me finish?" I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers so I could do anything rash. He continued, "I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was thinking I could give you a ride." That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure where he was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?"

"Me, duh." He said slowly as if he were talking to a child and it made me slightly irritated. I was still stunned, though.

"Why?"

"Well, I was thinking of going there myself in a few weeks, and to be honest, your truck can't make that."

"My truck operates just fine, thank you very much." I started to walk away, my anger replaced by shock. He matched my pace, though, and continued the unwanted conversation.

"But can your truck make it on one tank of gas?"

"I don't see how this is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

"The waste of gase is everyone's business." I stopped to face him again. He had to step back before he bumped into me.

"Honestly, Alfred." I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you said you didn't want to be my friend, yet here you are, offering to take me for a ride in which only friends do for each other."

"I said it'd be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thank you, not that's all cleared up." Heavey sarcasm. I realized we were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily glare him in the eyes without rain making me blink every second. But it didn't help my clarity of thought.

"It would be more…safe if you weren't my friend,' he explained. "But I'm tired of staying away from you, Arthur." His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last part sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe now. "Will you let me take you to Seattle?" he asked, still intense. I couldn't speak, only nod. He smiled briefly, and then his face because serious. He leaned forward and my heart felt it would stop. He came closer, and closer, till I felt his cool, minty breath on my lips. Then he smirked, turned around, and walked back the way we'd come.

* * *

**Chapter 4! Yay! Sorry for mistakes . Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. R&R please. **


	5. Blood Types

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

* * *

**Chapter 5: Blood Types**

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Kirkland," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone. I flushed and hurried to my seat. It wasn't till class ended that I realized Scott wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Francis met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Scott seemed ot become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was suppose to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard, now that I knew there would be absolutely no rain.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Alfred had said, and the way his eyes had looked when he leant toward me; half closed and filled with undeniable lust. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Peter and I enetered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if by some miracle, what occure earlier was reality. Peter babbled on and on about his dance plans - that Matthew had asked Francis and now they were all going together - completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I follwed the still babbling Peter through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite - I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Alfred Jones is staring at you again," Peter said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today." My head snapped up. I followed his gaze to see Alfred, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared disbelief, he winked.

"Does he mean you?" Peter asked with insulting astonisment in his voice.

"Perhaps he needs assistance with his Biology homework," I muttered for his benefit. "Um, I better go see what he wants." I could feel him staring after me as I walked away. When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling. I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling; making it hard to believe such a beautiful man could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"Well, this is…different," I finally managed.

"Well.." He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "Going to hell anyways, might as well do it in style." I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.

"I know." He smiled again, and then changed the subject. "I think I made your friends mad for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could their stares boring into my back.

"I'm may not give you back," he said with a wicked grin and I gulped, blood rushing downward. He laughed. "You look suddenly worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculousy, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually…what brought all this on?"

"I told you - I got tired of staying away. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his blue eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes - giving up trying to be all good. I'm just gonna do I what I want and let the chips fall." His smile faded and a hard edge crept into his voice.

"You lost me again." The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"I always say so much when I'm talking to you - that's one of the problemns."

"Don't worry - I have no idea what any of it means," I said wryly.

"Good."

"So…in a matter of plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…" he mused, dubious.

"Or not," I muttered. He grinned.

"Well, guess we can try. But I'm warning you that I'm not a good guy for you to be friends with." Behind his smile the warning was real, and I was debating whether to reply with 'It's alright. I like them bad', but went against it and settled for a different statement.

"You say that a lot," I noted.

"Well, yeah, cause you're not listening to me. I'm waiting for you to believe it. If you're actually smart, you'd stay away from a guy like me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed and he chuckled, making them want to burn holes into his ocean eyes.

"You're very easy to wire up," he stated, then smiled apologetically. "Sorry." I sighed, nodding.

"So, as long as I'm being…unintelligent, we'll try to be friends?"

"That sounds good." I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously. I looked up into his ocean eyes again, became befuddled, and, as usual, spoke the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are." His jaw tightened, but the smile remained with some effort.

"Any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.

"Not too much," I admitted. He chuckled.

"Theories?" I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker, two characters from those Marvel comics. There was no way I was going to tell him that, though. "Don't wanna tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. I shook my head.

"Too embarrassing."

"That's frustrating, you know," he complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing again, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all - just because someone refuses to tell you their thoughts, even if all the while they're making crytic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possible mean…now, why would that be at all frustrating?" He grimaced.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-anger flowing freely from the gates that held them, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things - from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"You really got a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards." We stared at each other, unsmiling. He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered. "What?"

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being mean to you - he's wondering if he should come break the fight up." He snickered again.

"I do not know who you're speaking of," I said frostily. "I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes, except you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why." I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Hungry?" he asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning my stomach was already full - of butterflies that is. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

"No, already ate." I didn't understand his expression - it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second hesitation. He was suddenly wary.

"That depends." He waited.

"I was just wondering…if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared and all." I looked at the bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"Alright." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"Thank you."

"Sure, but can I ask a favor now?" he demanded.

"One."

"Tell me a theory." Whoops.

"Not that one."

"You didn't say what I could ask, you just promised an answer," he reminded me.

"And you have broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.

"One theory - I won't laugh, I swear."

"Yes you will." I was positive about that. He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long lashes, his blue eyes scorching.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me. I blinked, my mind going blank as all blood seemed to escape my body to flow to one concentrated spot. My throat was dry. How the bloody hell did he do that?

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed by his eyes.

"Please tell me just one theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um…well….bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

"That's not creative," he scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I have," I said, miffed.

"You're not even close," he teased.

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Damn," I sighed.

"Kyrptonite doesn't hurt me, either," he chuckled.

"You were not supposed to laugh, remember?" He struggled to keep his composture. "I'll figure this out eventually," I warned him.

"I wish you wouldn't." He was serious again.

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"What if I'm not a hero?" he said, leaning closer. "What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully and then that sentence came to mind again.

"Oh," was all I could manage to say, some things clicking into place, though, at his words. "I see."

"Do you?" His face went sever suddenly, as if he were afraid he'd spoken too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I realized the truth of my words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me this all along. "But not bad," I said aloud. "No, I don't believe you're bad."

"Wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering what he meant by saying I was wrong. I wasn't afraid, which was strange, just more…inticed. More curious as to what his meanings were, what he was. At what mystery was lying behind those ocean blue eyes.

The silene lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty. I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"I'm not going," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's good to ditch now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were slightly troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was too big of a coward to ditch and get caught. He turned his attention back to his makeshift top.

"Later, then." I hesitated, town, but then first bell rang, sending me hurrying out the door - with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter - and to Biology. As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been formed.

Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet whne I arrived. I settled quickly in my seat, aware that both Scott and Matthew were staring at me. Scott looked resentful; Matthew looked surprised, and slightly awed. Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Scott's table, telling him to start passing them around the clas.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloved from the pocket of his lab coat and pulled them on. "The first should be an idicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator -" he held up something that nealy looked like a toothless hair pick "- and the third is a sterile mircolancet." He held u a small piece of blue plasitc and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped. "I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to preare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you."

He began at Scott's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I'll want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" he continued and grabbed Scott's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Scott's middle finger. Oh no… Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead. "Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, queezing Scott's finger till blood flowed. I swalled convulsively, my stomach heaving. "And then apply it to the card," he finished, hopding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your boody type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet, I wll need a parent's persmission - I have the slips here on my desk." He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop, and tried to hold on to my stomach. All around me, I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles. I breathed in slowly through my nose.

"Arthur, you alright?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close, sounding alarmed.

"I already know my bloody type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice, too afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Arthur to the nurse please?" he called. I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Scott who volunteered. "Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I'll crawl if I must. Scott seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the door. Scott towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit down for a minute or two, please" I begged. He helped me sit on the edge of the walk and saw the blood still fresh on his finger.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand inside your pocket," I warned. I still felt dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. It helped some.

"Wow, ya're green, Artie," Scott said nervously.

"Arthur?" a different voice called from the distance. No! Please let me be imagining that angelic voice. "What's wrong - is he hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded uset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at least, not to throw up. Scott seemed stressed.

"I t'ink he's fainted. I don't know w;at happened, he didn't even stick 'is finger."

"Arthur." Alfred's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "No, disappear." He chuckled.

"I was takin' 'im ta de nurse," Scott explain in a defensive tone, "he wouldn't go any furt'er."

"I'll take him," Alfred said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You go back to class."

"No," Scott protested. "I'm suppose ta do it." Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Alfred had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of one hundred and ten.

"Put me down, you bloody git!" I yelled at him. Please, please, do not vomit now. He was walking before I could finish talking.

"Hey!" Scott called, already ten paces behind us. Alfred ignored him.

"You look bad," he told me, grinning.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his steps was not at all helping. Heheld me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just his arms - it didn't seem to bother him; then again, he did lift a van.

"So you faint when seeing bloody?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him. I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the sickness with all my strength, clamping my lis together. "And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself. I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh, my," I heard a female voice - with some accent I couldn't name - gasp.

"He fainted in Biology," Alfred explained. I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Alfred was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. The readhead receptionist ran ahead of him to open it. A woman in the room with white cropped hair and a yellow headband in it looked up at us, astonished as Alfred swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far as the narrow room would allow. His eyes were bright, excited.

"He's just a little faint," he assured the starlted nurse. "They're bloody typing in Bio." The nuse nodded sagely.

"There's always one." She sounded close to Russian, but not quiet. He muffled a snicker. She looked at me. "Just lie down for a minute, dear; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nasuea was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Alfred coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class," she told him.

"I'm suppose to stay with him." He said this with such assured authority that - even though she pursed her lips - the nurse didn't argue further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then left the room. I suddenly became really aware of Alfred's presence.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am - but about what?"

"Ditching is good." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me there for a minute," he admitted after a pause, his voice close. I jumped when I noticed he was leaning over me, his hands bracing himself up on the mattress, fingers just barely touching my left side. It tingled and I had to fight visibly shivering.

"I really wish you would stop doing that," I sighed. He chuckled.

"Sorry," he apologized, then returned to the previous topic. "I thought McCallen was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha." I still had my eyes close, but I was feeling more normal now.

"I'm serious! I've seen corpses with better color," he stated with a laugh, but it ceased. "I was concerned that I might had to avenge your death."

"Poor Scott. He must be upset."

"He definitely hates me," Alfred said cheerfully and I laughed slightly.

"You can't know that."

"I saw the dude's face. He looked like he wanted to kill me." I laughed some more, feeling completely better now. Looking up, I saw Alfred's eyes watching me half-lidded, his smile soft and gentle. He slowly leaned down and my breath caught as his lips pressed tenderly against mine. For a second I was frozen; was this real or not? But then I was returning the kiss, a sudden passion bursting within me. Though, as soon as it had started, it ended. Alfred abruptly pulled away and walked back to the wall, smirking. I looked at him confused, and was about to ask, but then the door opened and there was the nurse.

"Here you go." She laid the ice on my forehead, but it felt like it would melt in seconds from the heat I was feeling. "You're looking good." But her voice was slightly off as a hand checked my forehead. She might think I have a fever.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and the receptionist stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned. I hoped to free the cot for the next invalid. I handed the compress back to the nurse.

"Here." And then Scott staggered through the door, now supportining a sallow-looking boy from our Biology class. I stood by Alfred to give them room. A mistake on my part when his hand rested on my lower back. I snapped up at him, and he chuckled at my reaction. He motioned to the door and I nodded. Together we left so the nurse could handle this one. But as I followed him out, I noticed his jaw was tight and his fists were clenched.

"I'm taking a guess you're not fond of blood either?" I stated once we were in the office. "Guess we share that in common. I could smell it as Scott brought that guy in. Luckily you motioned to leave when you did or else I would have been joining him on that cot." Alfred turned to look at me, confused.

"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.

"Well, I can - that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust…and salt." He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression. "What?" I asked.

"It's nothing." Scott came through the door then, glancing from me to Alfred. The look he showed confirmed Alfred's statement about the loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

"Ya look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again, afraid I would see the blood and hurl.

"It's not bleedin' anymore," he muttered. "Are ya goin' back ta class?"

"Seriously? I would have to turn around and come back to the nurse's."

"Yeah, I guess…So are ya goin' dis weekend? Ta de beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Alfred, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space. I tried to sound as friendly as possible.

"Of course. I said I was in, did I not?"

"Well, we're meetin' at me dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Alfred again, probably wondering if he was giving too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation. It angered me slightly.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see ya in Gym, den," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed voer me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again…in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned. Perfect.

"I can handle that." I hadn't noticed Alfred moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear and it made my cheeks tingle with heat. "Go sit and look pale," he muttered. That wasn't a challenge; I was normally pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me. I heard Alfred speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Arthur has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" His voice sounded like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Alfred?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Arthur," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" I debated over the carrying, and decided to walk.

"I'll walk." I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just began to fall. It felt really nice against my skin and I enjoyed all of it before I knew I'd have to go into my warm truck.

"Thanks," I said to Alfred as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime." He was starin straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So, are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picutre him loading u to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the twinge of enthusiasm Id' felt for the outing.

"Where are ya'll going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, I believe, to First Beach." I studied his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally. He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly.

"I don't think I was invited." I sighed.

"I just invited you."

"Let's not tease Scott any further this week. We don't want him to snap." He eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.

"Scott-schmock." I muttered. We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my arm, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going" he asked, outraged. He was gripping my arm in one hand, pretty roughly as well. I was confused.

"I'm returning home."

"Didn't I say I'd take you?"

"What about my truck?" I complained. He chuckled.

"I'll have Feli drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do from falling forward the way he dragged me.

"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me and didn't let go until we were at his car. I was against the passenger door and he was in front of me, smirking. I frowned, eyes narrowing.

"You are so pushy!" I grumbled. He chuckled and leaned forward, bracing his hand against the hood of his car on each side of me, pinning me in. My mouth shut and my throat went dry as my skin heated. His smirk widened as he leant down.

"How about I make up for not being able to go to La Push?" he said in more of a statement than a question. I rose my brow, confused. He just chuckled slightly and leant down further, closing the distance with his lips against mine once more. This time I didn't hesistate to return it. He pushed against me and I felt the cold metal against my back through my vest and shirt. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he pushed harder, making me gasp as his crotch rubbed mine.

He started to get more forceful and I was beginning to moan - much against my will - but then suddenly, he abruptly stopped. When I looked up at him, there was a tint of gold in his blue eyes, circling his pupil. He was breathing heavily, his breath mixing with my own as I panted, my mind blank. He pushed off, stepping back a few. At first, he looked like he regretted the whole thing, but then he grinned a cocky grin and walked to the driver's side.

"It's open," was all he said as he climbed in. I gulped, my skin tingling and flushed, a problem in my pants now. Embarassed, I tried to hide it as I climbed in. He seemed amused as he started the engine and backed up, leaving the parking lot. I finally got my thoughts back.

"You know, I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home," I stated, trying to distract myself from what just occurred. "You didn't need to drive me." It was raining harder now and he turned on the windsheild wipers, ignoring my statement. He turned off the heat - thankfully - and also the music. I recognized it though, and moved to turn it back up.

"Claire de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too, but also slightly embarrassed. I have no reason why he should be.

"Of course. It's one of my favorites," I stated. He slightly smiled .

"Mine too." He then stared out ahead to the road and rain, lost in thought. I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, sooting melody. The rain blurred everything outside, and before I knew it…I fell asleep.  
I didn't wake till I felt something soft, cool, and slightly wet on my lips. My eyes fluttered open and there was Alfred, hovered over me with his lips against mine once again. I was shocked, though, and nearly slapped him as I rose up.

"What the bloody hell?" He chuckled, leaning back into his own seat.

"Glad you're awake now." I narrowed at him.

"Yeah, thanks to your brilliant wake up call. What's with kissing me so much anyways? I thought we were only on friend terms." His smile slightly faded and he looked serious.

"Because you're irresistible to me, Arthur." My breath caught and I couldn't respond. He smiled and I looked away, embarrassed and wanting a change of topic. He obviously understood for he asked me a question.

"How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen." I laughed. "What?" he asked, curious again.

"My mum always stated that I was born a thirty-five year old man," I laughed out, but sighed. "Though, I suppose someone had to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior youself," I noted. He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why'd your mom marry that Phil guy?" I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, maybe two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mum…she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"You approve?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy…and he is who she wants."

"That's generous…I wonder," he mused.

"What?"

"Would she do the same no matter who you chose?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.

"I-I believe so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little different."

"No one scary, then," he teased. I girnned in repsonse.

"What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercing and extensive tattoos?" I inwardly laughed, remembering my rebellious pre-teen stage that drove my mum to hell and back.

"That's one way to put it."

"What's your definition?" But he ignored my question and asked me another.

"Do you think I could scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face. I tried to kee from laughing.

"With that baby face?" He frowned, but the smile stayed no matter how hard he tried.

"I'm being serious." I held my laughter and sighed.

"I'm sorry. And I suppose you can be, if you want."

"Are you scared of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned. "So, now are you going to tell about your family?" I asked to distract himm. "It has to be a more interesting story than mine." He was instantly cautious.

"What do you want to know?"

"Dr. Jones and your mom, they are your real birth parents?"

"Yes."

"And the others are adopted," I verified. He nodded. I aused for a moment. "Why did they adopt instead of having more?"

"My mother can't have any more," he said, his tone a matter-of-fact.

"Oh," I mumbled.

"It's okay," he stated. "Mom's happy, and so is dad."

"Do you like the others, though?"

"Of course. Even if they're not blood related, I still consider them brothers." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine not having them in the family."

"You're lucky."

"I know," he stated, then glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "But I suppose they'll be really mad at me if they have to wait in the rain." I saw the time as well. School was about to let out.

"Oh, sorry, I suppose you have to leave now." I didn't want to get out of the car and walk in.

"And you might want your truck back before Chief Kirkland has a hiss fit. That, and so you won't have to explain about what happened in Bio." He grinned at me.

"I'm sure he has already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed. He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

"Have fun at the beach…good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Ivan and I are gonna start the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? But was I friend? His actions expressed a lot more than friendship, and hinted more than what friendship offers. I hoped, though, he wouldn't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Ranier." I remember Charlie had said the Jones went camping frequently. Guess this was one of those times.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

"Will you do something for me, while I'm gone?" He turned to look me straight in the eyes. I nodded. "Don't be mad, but you seem like a person who attracts danger. So…don't fall into the ocean or get ran over, ok?" He smiled crookedly. I glared at him.

"I'll see what I can do," I snaped and was about to jump out into the rain angrily, but his arm caught me, whirled me around, and his lips touched mine for a second before he let go; he grinned at me like a mad man.

"Be safe." I nodded, my words - and anger - gone. I stepped out of the car, nearly tripping, then watched as he drove away. I could swear I saw him laughing as he did.

* * *

**Chapter 5! Yay! Sorry for mistakes . Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. R&R please. (PS : the first person to guess who I had for the nurse gets a cookie =D !)**


	6. Scary Stories

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

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**Chapter 6: Scary Stories**

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of Macbeth, I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, that even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain for the millionth time again, there it suddenly was, parked in the driveway.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my non-expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Peter especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Scott had kept his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Alfred's involvement. Peter did have a lot of questions, though, about lunch when Alfred had called me to his table.

"So what did Alfred Jones want yesterday?" he asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," he fished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone but his family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed. He seemed annoyed. I guess he'd been hoping ot hear something that would make a good gossip for him to pass on. That was the only worse part about Friday. I still hoped - even though I knew he wouldn't be - that Alfred would show up. When I walked into the cafeteria with Peter and Scott - who were now a very happy couple thank god - I couldn't keep from looking at his table. Only Kiku, Feli, and Ludwig sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw him again.

At my usual table, everyone was well into talk about our plans for the next day. Scott was animated, again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised - to my dismay - sun tomorrow. It was warmer today - almost sixty - so sadly that might stay true. I caught a few unfriendly glances from that girl who was dating Yao now, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind her, just a foot from her, and she was evidently unaware of that.

"…don't know why Arthur" - she sneered my name - "doesn't just sit with the Jones from now on." I heard her muttering to Scott. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike me - or so I'd thought.

"He's my friend; he sits with us," Scott whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Peter and Matthew pass me. I didn't want to hear any more.

That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course, he knew the names of the kids who were going, and their parents' names, so he approved .I wondered if he would approve about my plan to ride to Seattle with Alfred. Not that I was going to tell him.

"Dad, do you know of a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it's south of Mount Ranier," I asked casually.

"Yeah - why?" I shrugged.

"Some kids were speaking about camping up around there." I wasn't about to mention Alfred and his brother.

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during hunting season."

"Oh," I murmered. "Maybe I got the name wrong." But I was positive I didn't. Why would Alfred go camping in a place filled with bears? Shocking, that night, I fell asleep fast - much to the worrying of Alfred - and when morning came around, an unusual brightness woke me. I open my eyes to see yellow light streaming through my window. I hurried to the window, and sure enough, there was the sun. I groaned and closed the curtains. Great.

The McCallan's Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there - not having a need to really. In the parking lot, I recognized Scott's Surburban and Yao's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing in front of the Surburban. Francis was there, holding Matthew close to his side. Two other boys I'd seen before in class were there, but their names escaped my mind. Peter was there, next to that unpleasant girl. Scott had his arm around Peter, Yao the same with his girl. Wow…I felt really lonely now. Then again, there were three other boys alone, so maybe it'd be okay.

I got out of my truck, and one of the boys gave me a dirty look and whispered something to that girl. She shook out her cornsilk hair an eyed me scornfully. I saw Yao notice and he bumped her gently, giving her a confused look. She put on an innocent smile, and he shrugged off what happened. So it was going to be one of those days.

Scott - of course - was happy to see me. "Ya came!" he called, dlighted. "An' I said it would be sunny taday, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming," I reminded him.

"We're jus' waitin' fer two ot'ers…unless ya invited someone," Scott added.

"No, no one," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn' get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Alfred would appear. Scott looked satisfied.

"Will ya ride in me car? It's dat or Lee's mom's minivan."

"I suppose yous, if that is alright." He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Scott happy, though as I looked at Peter, he was upset. It wasn't simple to make them both happy at the same time.

"Well, I have shotgun," Peter suddenly said. Scott kind of gave her look that said "be nice", but Peter ignored it. I nodded.

"That's alright. I prefer the back anyways," I lied. Truthfully, I didn't care what seat I had, as long as it was near a window and I wasn't bothered till we arrived to the beach. Luckily, everything worked out and everyone had a seat. I was near a window, thankfully, but nearly squished against it as Matthew and Francis, plus Yao sat with me. His girl, plus the rest were piled into the minivan. It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks and we were there in no time.

I'd been too beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long cresent of First Beach was familiar to me, at least. It was still breathtaking no matter how many times I have seen it. The water was dark grey, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some iled together against the edge, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.  
There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a long eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of the blue sky.

We picked our way down to the beach, Scott leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Matthew and the boy I thought was named Ben, gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest egde, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have ya ever seen a driftwood fire?" Scott asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone colored benches; the others beside me, though at a distance, engrossed with their own little conversation.  
Scott kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

"Not really," I said as he placed the blazing twig against the teepee.

"Ya'll like dis den - watch de colors." He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I said in awe.

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Peter was on his other side. He turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky…and suddenly I was yearning for Alfred to be right here by me so I could cuddle into his side.

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved tide pools. I didn't get to see that many, so every time I came to stay with Charlie when little, I'd beg him to take me to them. On the other hand, I'd fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Alfred's request, though - that I not fall into the ocean.  
That girl - still I hadn't learned her name - made my decision for me. She didn't want to hike, and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other girls beside Matthew and Peter decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Yao had committed to remain with them before I quietly got up to join the pro-hiing group. Scott gave me a huge smile when he noticed I was coming along.

The hike wasn't too long, though. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above. It had been so long since I'd done this, and I most certainly was not use to nature. That was proved after ten falls, so now Scott stayed very close to make sure there wasn't any more to add to that count.

Eventually we broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life. I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I would have tried that - had I not know for a fact that some part of my body would be seriously injured if I did. So I found a very stable looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return.

I was completely absorbed, expcet for one small part of my mind that wondered what Alfred was occupying himself with now, and tring to imagine what he would be saying if he were here with me. Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stifly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, getting the hang of where to place my feet. By the time we arrived back, I some shallow scrapes and my jeans - which I really wasn't comfortable wearing - were stained slightly at the knees, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we moved closer, we could see that some boys had arrived; some with black, long hair and copper skin while others had brown hair and slightly lighter skin. The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a share while Francis introduced us as we entered the driftwood circle. Matthew and I were the last to arrive, and, as Francis said our names, I notcied a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance u at me in interest.

I sat down next to Matthew, and Scott brought us sandwhiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the boys was also named Peter, and the boy who noticed me was named Roderich; he was lighter than them all and his hair was shorter, but still shaggy.

It was relaxing to sit with Matthew, he was a restful kind of person to be around - he didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. He left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach and blackening the waves. I basked in it as much as I could.

As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Scott - with Peter shadowing him - headed up to the one show in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Laure and Tyler occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the boy named Roderich and the olders who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after Matthew left with the hikers, Roderich sauntered over to take her place by my sire. He looked my age, maybe just a year younger. He didn't seem like he was completely native; he looked more like a different race. I couldn't figure it out. Though, he had most of the mative features, such as his dark black hair, the deep set eyes, and high cheekbones. Altogether, he was rather handsome. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the first words out of his mouth.

"You're Artie Kirkland, aren't you?" It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Arthur," I sighed.

"I'm Roderich Edelstein." He held his hand out in a friendly gesutre. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Mr. Edelstein's son. I probably should remember you." I did slightly. Now I remembered why he looked different than the others. His mom was from Austria. She had moved to the US and married his dad, a Native.

"Yeah, but it's been a while, so I understand if you don't." I nodded. Last time I'd seen him I was perhaps six or seven. "So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I'm quite fond of it, actually," I said, and he chuckled. "What?"

"You're accent," he laughed out. I narrowed my eyes.

"What's wrong with my accent?"

"Dude, you're in America now. Loosen up. Use slang." I scoffed.

"You're mother would never approve of you using 'slang'," I retored, and regretted it. His mother had past away, and I could see in his now sadden eyes that I'd went too far. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he said, but I could still hear the hurt in his voice. His mother was the best woman alive. A well brought up lady with fine etiquette and a proper manner to match. It still baffles me how she ended up with his dad, but they were like glue, stuck together. She had wanted to raise Roderich like a gentleman, but his dad chose otherwise. Guess his dad won when she…left. I feel so terrible now.

"So, how fast have you gone with it?" he asked, changing the subject. I went along.

"Maybe forty, fifty-five at least," I replied. He laughed.

"Every gone over sixty?"

"No," I admitted. He grinned.

"Good. Don't." I couldn't help but grin back.

"It does excellent in collision, though," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed with another laugh. I shook my head and laughed with him.

"So you build cars?" I asked, remember Charlia had mentioned Roderich repaired it.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added, jokingly. I laughed and nodded

"I'm not good with vehicales."

"Aw, come on! A guy like you should know something!" I nodded again.

"Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I'm the masculine type," I paused, noticing my flaw. "I mean, I just don't do well with mechanics." He nodded, though I think he might have caught something for now he was grinning even wider. Just then, that girl came to the rescue - shockingly.

"You know Arthur, Roderich?" she asked - in what I imagined was an insolent tone - from across the fire.

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me now.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed. "Arthur," she called again, watching my face carefully,

"I was just saying to Yao that it was too bad none of the Jones could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing.

"You mean Dr. Jones's family" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to her irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.

"The Jones don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question. Yao, trying to win back her attention, asked her opiniong on a CD he held. She was distracted. I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He said the Jones didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more - that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success. Roderich interutted my meditation.

"So is Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Surprisingly, no," I said. He grinned. I was still turning over the brief comment on the Jones, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was an ignorant plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young Roderich was as yet inexperienced to flirting, so that he wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.

"Do you want to walk down to the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate that way Alfred had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. It couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Roderich jumped up willingly enough. As we walked nore across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I enjoyed it.

"So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I fluttered my eyelids.

"I just turned fifteen, actually," he confessed, flattered.

"Really?" My face was full of false surprise; I knew how old he was. "I would have thought you were older."

"I'm tall for my age," he explained. I nodded, trying to think of something else to ask or say.

"So, do you come up to Forks or stay here mostly?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.

"No, I stay here mainly. But I sometimes go to Forks, when I'm working," he exlained with a frown. "But when I get my car finished, I can go u as much as I want - after I get my license."

"Cool." I inwardly grimaced at that idiotic word. It was used too much, but I was trying to 'loosen up'. "So, who was that other boy talking a moment ago? He seemed a little bit old to be hanging out with us."

"That's Johan - he's nineteen," he informed me. My brow arched.

"Isn't Johan a German name?" He chuckled.

"It can also be a name used in the Netherlands, which is where his came from. His mother was fascinated by that country, so she gave him a name from it. He hates the name, though, and changed it to just John." I nodded. Makes sense.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.

"The Jones? Oh, they're not suppose to come onto the reservation." He looked away out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in John's voice.

"Why not?" He glanced back at me, biting his lip.

"Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick. He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was husky.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

"I love them," I enthused, making an effore to smolder at him. Roderich strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from - the Hetalians, I means?" he began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood - supposedly, the ancient Hetalians tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves - and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them. Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged. I wanted to know more know. Especially how this was tying into the Jones.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf - well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves had enemies?"

"Only one." I stared at him earnestly, hoing to disguised my impatience as admirationg. "So you see," Roderich continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did - they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-paces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why …?" I tried to understand, struggling not let him see how serious I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilzed'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead." I tried to keep my voice casual.

"So how does this fit in with the Jones? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same one." He must have though the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story, but in truth, I was shocked. Was this the reason behind the mysterious Alfred Jones and his family? That they were these 'cold ones'? Roderich continued. "There are more of them now, two new males, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time, they already knew of the leader, Dr. Jones. He'd been here and gone before your people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile, but I wasn't no where near humor.

"What are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

"Blood drinkers," he relied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them vampires." I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was exposing. "You have goosebumps," he laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the waves. Was Alfred really a vamire, even if it did seem ridiculous?

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone." I couldn't control my exression enough to look at him yet.

"Don't worry, I won't give you away." He nodded.

"But don't say anything to Charlie. He was retty made at my dad when he heard some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Jones started working there."

"I wont', of course not."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he asked in a playful tone, but with a hunt of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean. I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have Goosebumps, see?" I held up my arm.

"Cool." He smiled. And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Scott and Peter about fifty years away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Arthur," Scott called in relief, waving his arm over his head.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Roderich asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Scott's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, definitely not," I whisered. I was tremendously grateful to Roderich and eager to make him as happy as possible. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Scott to do so. He smiled, elated by my inet flirting.

"So when I get my license…" he began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used him. But I really did like Roderich. He was someone I could easily be friends with.  
Scott had reached us now, with Peter still a few paces back. I could see his eyes appraising Roderich, and looking satisfied at his obvious youth.

"Where have you been?" he asked, though the answer was right in front of him.

"Roderich was just telling me some local stories," I replied. "It was really interesting." I smiled at Roderich warmly, and he grinned back.

"Well," Scott aused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. "We're packing up - it looks like it's going to rain soon." We all looked up at the gloweing sky. It certainly did look like rain. I smiled and now wanted to stay longer, but knew I had to go back since they were my only ride.

"Okay." I jumped up. "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you again," Roderich said, and I could tell he was taunting Scott just a bit.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see your dad, I'll come too," I promised. His grin stretched across his face.

"That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added earnestly. I pulled u my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Surburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Matthew and Yao this time. Matthew just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and that girl who was now riding shotgun, twisted around to occupy Yao's attention. So while everyone was busy, I laid my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, and tried very hard not to think about what I was just told.

* * *

**Chapter 6! Yay! Sorry for mistakes . Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. R&R please. And yes, I realize I made them Hetalians, it was just too hilarious to pass up XD And if anyone is wondering : Johan is Netherlands :) I thought it fitted so :P**


	7. Nightmare

Twilight: The Hetalia Version

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**Chapter 7: Nightmare**

I told Charlie I had a lot of homework to do, and that I didn't want anything to eat. There was a basketball game on that he was exicted about, though of course I had no idea what was secial about it, so he wasn't away of anything unusual in my fact or tone.

Once in my room, I locked the door. I dug through my desk until I found my old headphones, and I plugged them into my little CD player. I picked u a CD that Phil had given to me for Christman. It was one of his favorite bands, but they used a little too much bass and shrieking for my tastes. I popped it into place, though, and lay down on my bed. I hit Play and turned up the volume till it hurt my ears, then I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded. I added a pillow over the top half of my face.

I concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I'd listen through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. I was surprised to find I was becoming fond of the band, but then again it could just be my rebellious phase kicking in at the sound of its familiar music. So I listening to the CD again and again, until I was signing along with all the songs, until finally, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of my consciousness that I was dreaming, I recognized the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby. And I knew that if I found the ocean, I'd be able to see the open.

I was trying to follow the sound, but then Roderich Edelstein was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackes part of the forest.

"Roderich? What's wrong?" I asked. His face was frightened as he yanked with all his strength against my resistance; I didn't want to go into the dark.

"Run, Arthur, you have to run!" he whispered, terrified.

"This way, Arthur!" I recognized Scott's voice calling out of the gloomy heart of the trees, but I couldn't see him.

"Why?" I asked, still pulling against Roderich's grasp, desperate now to find the open. But Roderich let go of my hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim forest floor. He twitched on the ground as I watched in horror.

"Roderich!" I screamed. But he was gone. In his place was a large, red-brown wolf with black eyes. The wolf raced away from me, ointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of his hsoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between his exposed fangs.

"Arthur, run!" Scott cried out again from behind me. But I didn't turn. I was watching a dark figure coming toward me from the beach. And then Alfred stepped forward out of the trees, his eyes black and dangerous. He held up on hand and beckoned me to come to him. The wolf growled at my feet.  
I took a step forward, toward Alfred. He smiled then, and his teeth were sharp, pointed.

"Trust me," he purred. I took another step, and the wolf beside me suddenly disappeared with a whimper. I looked back up to Alfred and he was already there in front of me, the space closed between us. I gasped as his hand gentle stroked my neck, and I couldn't help but tilt my head as giving it to him. I heard a low, husky chuckle come from him as he leaned down over me. Then a sharp pain entered my neck, and I screamed. But suddenly, everything went calm, and my scream turned into a moan as pleasure waved through me.

And then I woke up.

I looked around and saw the familiar walls of my bedroom; my desk, laptop, lamp, nigthstand. I sighed, letting my hand rub my neck, where 'Alfred' had bitten. The skin was warm, heated, and I felt something odd underneath the covers. Looking, I groaned as a problem had awoken with me. Tossing back the covers, I went to the bathroom to take care of it.

Once finished, I walked back to my bedroom, seeing the lamp from earlier was still on. Turning it off, I plopped back into my bed and was about to head back into sleep when the alarm clock went off. I sighed, and stood back up, heading back to the bathroom for a shower. It didn't last as long as I'd hope. Even taking the time to blow-dry my hair, I was soon out of things to do in the bathroom.

Wrapped in a towel, I crossed back to my room. I couldn't tell if Charlie was still asleep, or if he had already left. I went to look out my window, and the cruiser was gone. Fishing again, probably. I dressed slowly into the comforts of my slacks, button long sleeve, and vest; then made my bed. I went to my desk and switched on the latop. I hated using internet here, since the service was incredibly slow. The dialing up was taking so long, that I decided to go get myself a bowl of cereal while I waited. I ate slowly, chewing each bite with care. When I was done, I washed the bowl and spoon, dried the, and put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to my CD player first, placing it on the table. I pulled the headphones out and returned them to their spot in the desk drawer. Then I turned the same CD on, turning it down to the point where it was background noise.

With another sigh, I returned to the laptop and pulled up the browser. Once it loaded, I tyed in one word in the search bar : Vampire. It took a while, of course, and when the results came up, there was a lot to sift through - everything from movies and TV shows to roleplaying games, underground metal, and gothic cosmetic companies. Then I found a promising site - Vampires A-Z. I waited impatiently for it to load. Finally it did - simple white background with black text, academic looking. Two quotes greeted me on the home page: Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both. - Rev. Montague Summers.

If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, or priests, of magistrates; the judical proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires? - Rousseau.

The rest of the site was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vamires held throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the Danag, was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible for planting taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the Danag worked with humans for many years, but the partnership was ended one day when a woman cut her finger and the Danag sucked her wound, draining her completely of blood.  
I read carefully through the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let along plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths centered around beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like constructs created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give men an excuse for infidelity.

Many of the stories involved bodiless spirits and warnings against improper burials. There wasn't much that sounded like the movies I'd seen - such as that god-awful Twilight series everyone is fantasizing over. Only three entries really caught my attention: The Romanian Varacolaci, a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human; the Slovak Nelapsi, a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight; and one other, the Stregoni benefici. About this last there was only one brief sentence. Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires.

It was a relief, that one small entry, the one myth among hundreds that claimed the existence of good vampires. Overall, though, there was little that coincided with Roderich's stories or my own observations. I'd made a little catalogue in my mind as I'd read and carefully compared it with each myth. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Roderich's criteria: blood drinks, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There were very few myths that matched even one factor. And then another problem, one that I'd remembered from the small number of scary movies I'd seen and was backed up by today's reading - vampires couldn't come out in the daytime, the sun would burn them to a cinder. They slept in coffins all day, and came out only at night. Aggravated, I snapped off the laptop, not waiting to shut it down properly. Through my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment.

It was all so stupid. I was sitting in my room, researching vampires. What was wrong with me? I decided that most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks - and the entire American country for that matter.

I had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere I wanted to go that didn't involve a three-day drive. I pulled on my shoes anyway and went downstairs. I walked out without checking the weather, though I knew it was an overcast, but not raining yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Charlie's yard toward the ever-encroaching forest. It didn't take long till I was deep enough for the house and road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp earth under my feet and the sudden cries of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that lef through the forest here, or I wouldn't risk wandering on my own like this. My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost, but my stubborness drove me forward. The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell. It snaked around the Sitka spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and all I knew was due to Charlie pointing them out to me from the cruiser window in earlier days.

There were many I didn't know, and others I couldn't be sure about because they were so covered in green. I followed the trail as long as my anger at myself pushed me forward. As that started to ebb, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn't be certain if it was beginning to rain or if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, held high in the leaves above me, slowly dripping their way back to the earth.  
A recently fallen tree - I knew it was recent because it wasn't entirely covered in moss - rested against the trunk of one of her sisters, creating a sheltered little bench just a few safe feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat carefully, making sure the jacket I brought was between the damp seat and my slacks wherever they touched, and leaned my back against the living tree. This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known, but where else was there to go?

The forest was deep green, though, and much more beautiful than anything in town. It was peaceful, quiet, no noise, definitely no pollution. I suppose I could get used to this. But now there was no longer the sound of jays, but rain falling on the top, creating a mist here on the ground. It was making the scene more beautiful and I relaxed more on the tree, knowing that someone could probably walk by, three feet away, and not even see me from all the high ferns covering me.

As I laid, I forced myself to focus on the two most vital questions I had to answer, but I did so unwillingly. First, I had to deicde if it was possibly that what Roderich said about the Jones could be true. Immediately my mind responded with a resounding negative. It was silly and morbid to entertain such ridiculous notions. But what, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alice at this moment. I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from coal black, to light blue, to coal again; the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more - small things that registered slowly - how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way they sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of something near old centuries than that of the modern slang - but this could be based on their different countries.

Though, Alfred had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. He hadn't said no to the beach trip till he heard where we were going. He seemed to know what everyone around him was thinking…except me - thank god. He had told me he was the villian, dangerous…Could the Jones be vampires? Well, they were something. Something outside the possibility of rational justfication was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether it be Roderich's cold ones or my own superhero theory, Alfred Jones was not…human. He was something more. So then - maybe. That would have to be my answer for now.

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it was true? If Alfred was a vampire - I could hardly make myself think the words - then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed. Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to be smart, to avoid him as much as possible. To cancel our plans, to go back to ignoring him as far as I was able. To pretend there was an impenetrably thick glass walls between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell him to leave me alone - and mean it this time.

But there was no way in Hell I could do that. So that meant option two: to confront him. Even if…but I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like footsteps across the matted earthern floor. I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have disappearing with the rain. But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised as I nearly ran through the trees at how far I had come.I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could get too panicky, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed branches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was free, Charlie's lawn stretched out in front of me.

It was just noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and dried off, fixing my attire to better fit the day. It didn't take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper of Macbeth that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since…well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest.

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through - usually with relief that the hoice was made. Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives. This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet, productive - I finished my paper before eight. Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Roderich Edelstein.

They should be different, though. I should be afraid - I knew I should be, but I couldn't feel the fear. I only felt the attraction, the want, the need…what was he doing to me that I couldn't understand?

I slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early when I had just became accustomed to the American time again. I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I closed the curtains immediately and knew this day would be like yesterday; filled with thinking, dreadings, wondering, and pure irritation.

Charlie was finished breakfast when I came downstairs, andhe picked up on my unusual mood. He knew I was a bit glum being in America, but today I was extra-glum.

"Miss the rain?" he asked.

"Yes," I groaned. He only chuckled. I ate breakfast slowly again, watching the ugly blue sky continue to stay blue. Charlie called out a goodbye, and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, debating whether to take my coat again, my mind hoping there would be rain afterwards. Deciding it probably would, I folded it over my arm and headed out. I climbed into my truck and kept both windows up, turning the AC on immediately and turned it down to the lowers temperature it would go.

I was one of the first ones to school; I hadn't even checked the clock to see the time. I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were a little damp, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have some use for it. My homework was complete - the product of a slow social life - but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right. I took out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking the first problem I was daydreaming.

I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I'd drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.

"Arthur!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Scott. I looked around to realize that the school had become populated while I'd been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in shorts, and it disgusted me. Even Scott was coming toward me in khaki shorts and a striped Rugby shirt, waving.

"Hey, Scott," I called, waving back, trying to fake happiness with minimal slippage. He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining bright red - but more like an orange - in the golden light, his grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn't help but feel…nauseous. I became even more close to vomiting as he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Great day, isn't it?"

"Sure," I agreed, trying to sound like I enjoyed it.

"What did ya do yesterday?" His tone was just a bit too proprietary.

"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't' add that I was finished with it - no need to sound smug. He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"Oh yeah - dat's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, actually I believe it's Wednesday," I corrected.

"Wednesday?" He frowned. "Dat's not good…W'at are ya writin' yers on?"

"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female character is misogynistic." He started at me as if I had just spoken Latin to him.

"I guess I'll have ta get ta work on dat tanight," he said, deflated. "I was goin' ta ask if ya wanted ta go out."

"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant conversation with Scott anymore without it becoming very awkward?

"Well, we could to ta dinner or somet'in'…an' I could work on de essay later." He smiled at me hopefully.

"Scott…" I hated being put on the spot. "I don't think that is such a good idea." His face fell.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes guarded. My thoughts flickered to Alfred, wondering if that's where his thoughts were as well.

"I think…and if you ever repeat what I am about to say, I will cheerfully beat you to death," I threatened, "but I think that would hurt Peter's feelings." He was bewildered, obviously not thinking in that direction at all.

"Peter?"

"Really, Scott, are you honestly that blind?"

"Oh," he exhaled - clearly dazed. I took advantage of that to make my escape.

"It's time for class, and I can't be late again." I gathered my books up and stuffed them in my bag. We walked in silence to building three, and his expression was distracted. I hoped whatever thoughts he was immersed in where leading him in the right direction.

When I saw Peter in Trig, he was bubbling with enthusiasm. Matthew and him were going to Port Angeles tonight to go shopping for the dance - which apparently had a Monte Carlo theme - and he wanted me to come, too, even though I didn't need any clothes. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town. So I gave him a maybe, telling him I'd have to speak with Charlie first. He talked about nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continued as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late, and we were on our way to lunch.

I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to notice much of what he said. I was painfully eager to see not just him but all the Jones - to compare them with the new supcisions that plagued my mind. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt the first true tingle of fear slighter down my spine and settle in my stomach.

Across the cafeteria, the table - their table - was completely empty. Desolation hit me with crippling strength. I shambled along behind Peter, not bothering to pretend to listen anymore. We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I avoided the empty chair next to Scott in favor of one by Matthew. I vaguely noticed that Scott held the chair out politely for Peter, and that his face lit up in response.

Matthew asked a few questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in mistery. He, too, invited me to go with them shopping tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself.

I reliazed I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment. The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, and surprisingly - thanks to my grandmother - this was one activity I could do quiet well, but I wasn't able to enjoy it.

I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Peter and Matthew. But right after I walked in the door of Charlie's house, Peter called to cancle our plans. I tried to be happy that Scott had asked him out to dinner - I really was realived that he finally seemed to be catching on - but my entuisiasm sounded flase in my own ears. He rescheduled our shopping trip for tomorrow night. Which left me with little in the way of distractions.

I had the fish cooking for dinner - which really all I had to do was warm it up since Charlie had Mr. Edelstein cook it - with a salad and bread left over from the takeout before, so there was nothing to do there.

I spent a focused half hour on homework, but then I was through with that as well. I checked my e-mail, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snippier as they progressed to the present. I sighed and tyed a quick response.

Mum, sorry. I've been out with friends, at the beach. And I had this paper due so I was busy working on it. ( - my excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave u on that. -) It's sunny outside today - I know, I'm shocked, too - so I was mainly trying to avoid it all day which didn't really work out as planned. I love you, lots, and I'll try to write to you more. Arthur.

I deicded to kill an hour with non-school related reading. I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks, most of them revolving around works similar to those we studied in Literature. I settled on a poetic book filled with some of my most favorite poems; one being Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. I laid on my stomach, crossing my ankles in the air in a lazy fashion, flipping through each page as I read though the poems. Only after I got to the middle did I see one with Alfred's name in it and I mentally scowled. Angrily, I turned to another poem, but the hero of that piece was named Alfred as well, and that was just not right. Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century? I snapped the poem book shut, annoyed, and rolled over onto my back.

I pushed my sleeves of my shirt as high as they would go to feel the cool air of my room - for some reason it had become rather warm - and closed my eyes. I would think of nothing by the cold on my skin, I told myself severly.

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Charlie's cruiser turning onto the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realing the light was gone, behind the trees, and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Charlie?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house. I jumped up, foolishly edgy, and ran downstairs to fix out the plates and his beer. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came down.

"Hey, dad," I said, stifling a yawn.

"Hey, Artie," he greeted. "Food ready?" he asked.

"Yes, should be. Would you want me to bring the plate into the living room?"

"Yeah. I want to catch the score on the game." I nodded and prepared his plate, then balanced it, plus mine and his beer, to the living room where he sat. I rested myself beside him, handed his food and drink, then watched TV with him in silence. We continued watching even after dinner, something to do. There wasn't anything on I was interested in watching, but he knew I didn't like sports, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, desite my depression, to make him happy.

"Dad," I said during a commercial, "Peter and Matthew are going shopping for clothes to the dance and they were wondering if I could accompany them."

"Peter Seallen?" he asked.

"And Matthew Williams." I sighed as I gave him the details. He was confused.

"But you're not going to the dance, right?"

"No, Dad, but I am assisting them in finding clothes - you know, giving them constructive criticism and all that." I wouldn't have to explain this if it were my mum.

"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with this. "It's a school night, though."

"We'll depart right after school, so we can arrive back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?"

"Arthur, I fed myself for sixteen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwhiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

* * *

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with the decision that I'd just bare the sun for this week and ignore it so I could have 'fun'. I decided to finally dress a bit more casual; which for me meant only leaving the vest out of my outift so that I only wore a white button up sleeve and black slacks. But since I wasn't just going to be alone, I didn't want to feel out of date with Peter and Matthew, so I changed from black slacks to black skinny jeans - the only type of jeans I could wear. Once I deemed myself ready for the shopping this evening, I went to my truck and headed for school.

I had planned my arrival at school that I barely had time to make it to class. With a sinking heart, I circled the full lot looking for a space, while also searching for the silver Volvo that was clearly not there. I paked in the last row and hurried to English, breathless, but subdued, before the final bell. It was the same as yesterday - I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I found the lunchroom bare of the Jones and sat at my empty Biology table.

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight and made all the more attractive by the fact I desperately needed this for a distraction. I was anxious to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see him appearing out of the blue the way he always did. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not ruin Matthew's or Peter's enjoyment in the clothe hunting. Myabe I could do a little clothes shopping as well. I refused to think that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this weekend, no longer interested in the earlier arrangment. Surely Alfred wouldn't cancel without notifying me first, right?

After school, Peter followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch my books and truck. I brushed through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a slight lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner, switched my wallets from my school one to my normal one, and ran out to join Peter. We went to Matthew's house next, and he was waiting for us.  
My excitement increased exponentially as we actually drove out of the town limits.

* * *

**Chapter 7! Yay! Sorry for mistakes . Next chapter should be up by tomorrow as well, but I'll try to get it up a little early. R&R please. I know, I know. Sealand's name is Peter _Kirkland _but I can't make him Arthur's brother in this so I replaced it with Seallen. Stupid, but I don't care. It's my story XD **


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